


you're like a storm tower (if it had fire power)

by dustofwarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Banter, Blowjobs, Dirty Talk, Episode Ignis Verse 2, M/M, Post-Episode Ignis Verse 2, Stuck in a Cabin, background!gladnis, not!Blind!Ignis, still!alive!Ravus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: Ignis, perhaps thanks to the whiskey and a desire not to speak of a past that cannot be changed, says blandly, “Though I must say...perish in despair? Really?”Ravus has the grace to flush at Ignis’s reference to his snarled words back in Altissia. “Perhaps we could chalk that up to spending too much of my time around Ardyn.”Ignis chuckles. “I believe that was the second joke you’ve told in a mere few hours. You must not be as devoid a sense of humor as you claim.”“Who says that was a joke?”____While attempting to ferry refugees to Lestallum from Tenebrae, Ignis runs into a bit of trouble. Ravus lends a hand. And other things.(Or Ravus and Ignis are stuck in a cabin during a storm. You know how this goes.)





	you're like a storm tower (if it had fire power)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always to @marmolita for the beta! This takes place a few months after Noctis goes into the Crystal, and follows post-Episode Ignis alternate timeline. FYI: there's a bit of a spoiler in here for FFVII just in case. 
> 
> Title from the Ryan Adams song "Magick" (I do not apologize for my titles with parentheses, I'm a Fandom Olde and we did that Back In The Day (TM)).

They’re halfway to the meet-up in Tenebrae when everything goes to hell.

It happens so quickly that it’s impossible to recount, later, what happened first; the transport vehicle throwing an axle or the pack of anaks fleeing -- something hungry and larger -- and running directly into the road. Whatever it is, the transport swerves and banks hard on the shoulder, there’s a lot of screeching noises and a jolt as the vehicle comes to a stop.

The only people in the transport are Ignis and the driver; they’re supposed to be picking up a group of refugees heading for Lestallum. With barely two hours of sunlight per day, travel schedules have to be adhered to with exacting precision. Ignis did not factor in malfunctioning auto parts, roads in desperate need of repair or a horde of spooked animals into his timetable when planning for this trip. The possibility of encountering all three at once certainly never occurred to him.

The driver, Aurax, delivers Ignis the next bit of bad news. The vehicle has two spare tires, but they won’t work since the wheel itself was damaged in the crash. “We’re gonna need a new one. We could, maybe, get this thing to the meet-up point and hope for the best, but Mr. Scientia, if that wheel goes and we’re stuck with a bunch of civilians….”

Aurax doesn’t need to finish that sentence. Aurax and Ignis both have the skills to defend themselves, but against a horde of daemons with a group of vulnerable civilians to protect? It seems best not to take the risk.

“We’ll let the volunteers know that the transport will be late. Can you travel back to find a replacement? There should be someone who can drive you back to the vehicle.” Daemons didn’t tend to bother with cars, if there weren’t any people inside.

“Sure, but what are you gonna do?”

“I’ll continue on toward the meet-up point,” Ignis says. “When you’re en route once more, simply alert me and I’ll let the volunteers know.”

“So what you’re saying is, you want to split up.” Aurax sighs. “That thing you’re not s’posed to do in every horror movie.”

Miffed, Ignis says sternly, “This isn’t a horror movie. This is a logistical consideration, in which it makes more sense if --”

“They always got a reason for doin’ it in the movies, too,” Aurax interrupts. “Still ends up with everybody dead.”

Aurax is either a pessimist, or possessed of an incredibly dark sense of humor. Since he’s not sure which, Ignis just says blandly, “I’m willing to entertain an alternate plan, if you have one.”

Aurax doesn’t, so as the sun begins to set they head off in opposite directions, alone.

***

It starts to rain a few hours after Ignis arrives at the haven, which is less than ideal. He’s traveling with only the barest necessities, having not planned for an extended camping trip, and if the rain continues it will mute what little sun they still have and make for a dreary trip indeed.

He fixes a simple meal of rations and bottled water, sets up his rudimentary one-person tent, and deliberately doesn’t think of other nights in other havens, where the weather might have been just as dour but the company infinitely more preferable. The rain on the canvas tent should be relaxing, but as it keeps increasing in pressure, it instead makes for a rather dreadful rest.

Ignis packs up his gear after a few hours of fitful sleep, makes certain his daggers are at the ready, and heads off in the direction of the volunteer station. The mud is thick as sludge and he is certain the daemons are about even if they are mysteriously absent. He would have expected to run into a least few imps by now.

 _Perhaps it is the rain,_ Ignis thinks, though he cannot say he ever remembers daemons keeping their distance at night in similar weather. But who is to say what changes the reduction of sunlight is having on daemon-kind? They know very little about them, after all.

Ignis hears the rumble of something that is most assuredly not thunder, then turns and sees the edge of a fearsome sword as it comes bearing down upon him. The daemons aren’t scared away by the rain, he realizes as he throws his gear and himself into a side roll to avoid the blow. They’re keeping their distance from the red giant that is doing its best to cleave him into bits.

Bloody red giants. Ignis, Gladio, Noct and Prompto had taken down more than a few, mostly in the confines of a royal tomb, but always with four fighters instead of one -- and the additional benefit of Lucian magic to both harm the foe and heal the friends. The odds are decidedly not in Ignis’s favor.

Ignis is a practical man, and would seek to escape the confrontation if it were at all possible. But the haven is too far behind him and this particular part of the Tenebraen countryside is flat and without any useful places to take cover. He sees a small clutch of bushes in the distance, but they appear too low to the ground to be of any real help.

There’s only one real option, and that is to kill the fearsome daemon. Ignis mentally calculates how much damage he can take, given he only has one potion, and tries to think of the best place to land a staggering blow that might take the red giant off its feet.

Red giants are big and their swords the size of a car, but they’re also slow. He manages to get around the back, drops and aims a quick dagger strike where he dearly hopes a daemonic tendon or two might be to cripple it. He gets a few slashes in before the red giant bats him away, sending him careening toward the small outcropping of what he thought were bushes but are in fact rocks

Ignis smacks his head against one, thankfully not with enough force to render him unconscious, but enough that everything turns into a hazy blur of static and sickening nausea. _It would seem,_ he thinks hazily, _Aulax had the right of it, after all._

The red giant roars, its sword hefted high, its daemonic glowing eyes trained on Ignis’s prone form. Ignis takes a deep breath, fights off the sick twist in his stomach and prepares to get to his feet. He will not die here. It is simply not an option.

_Astrals, help me. If you would see fit to bestow Ramuh upon me for the duration of this fight, I promise I shall make smarter traveling decisions in the future._

Ignis staggers to his feet just as the red giant swings its mighty sword, and before Ignis can even evade -- something that looks like it is made of lightning and ice springs in front of him, battling Ignis’s certain death back and away.

“If you’re not dead or severely injured, perhaps you might lend a hand,” says the blur of white, and Ignis realizes through his stupor that his rescuer is not the summon Ramuh the Storm-sender, but the former Imperial Commander, Ravus Nox Fleuret.

“Right, yes, of course. A moment.” Ignis quickly breaks the potion and lets it take away the dizziness and nausea, readies his daggers, and pounces.

***

It takes the better part of forty-five minutes to bring the monster down.

Ignis recalls his last such encounter with a red giant in the wild, on the road from Lestallum to Caem with his companions. They’d fought for a good twenty or so minutes before a red airship descended and Commodore Highwind, showing impeccable timing, swan-dove from the ship’s docking bay and landed on the daemon’s back. She sank her sword into the daemon’s spine and shouted cheerfully, “Amateurs. Never send a bunch of a boys to do a woman’s job.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her,” Prompto said, later that night, when Aranea had left them with one vanquished daemon and thirty-five hundred of their gil in her pocket. “But I’m like, way too fucking terrified of her to ever tell her.”

The memory makes him smile - or it would, if he could catch his breath. Ignis leans with his hands on his knees, daggers sheathed, and wishes briefly that daemons didn’t vanish into the ether so he could stab this one a few times out of spite.

“What on earth are you doing out here alone?” Ravus asks, frowning. He’s as disheveled as Ignis has ever seen him, hair plastered to his face, his white coat streaked with mud and snapping in the ever-increasing wind.

“Heading for the meet-up point,” Ignis manages, trying to inhale through his nose and breathe out through his mouth so that his words sound somewhat normal. Even saying it sounds ridiculous.

“In the dark,” Ravus says, all clipped syllables and disapproval. “In the _rain_.”

“It would seem so,” Ignis says, standing upright. His muscles are trembling from exhaustion, but he steps forward, hand extended. “Lord Ravus. Thank you for the assistance.”

“Assistance? I saved your foolish life, Scientia,” Ravus says, but he takes Ignis’s hand in his. His fingers are shaking a bit, which makes Ignis feel much better about his own state of exhaustion. “But you’re welcome.” His fierce expression eases. “However, if you don’t want to do that again, we should keep moving.”

“How did you know I was out here?” Ignis asks, deciding to give up searching for his discarded camping gear. The rain is increasing, and even if they return to a haven, it won’t be of much use in this weather.

“Your driver called the meet-up station. He said you split up. I, of course, said there was no way a man who professes to be half as clever as you claim would do such an asinine thing. It would seem I gave you far too much credit.”

Ignis falls in step beside him and doesn’t bother to hide his tired chuckle. “And then you promptly took off after me, so _you_ must not be half as clever as I.”

“I’m fairly sure that’s too many halves.” Ravus pushes his sodden hair back from his face. “And I know this area well. There’s a small cottage a few clicks ahead; we shall take shelter there for the duration of the storm before traveling to the manor.”

 _He may no longer lead an army, but he is still a commander and expects to be obeyed,_ Ignis thinks wryly. “A cottage? Out here? It seems rather impractical, being so far from the main road.”

“Years ago, it was a convenient place for the Oracle to see to the afflicted. The paved road to the manor proper was not built until my mother’s time. The previous Oracles would travel here to tend to those who needed them, rather than require those weakened by Scourge-sickness to travel on chocobo. It is adequately stocked and should provide for our needs.” Ravus keeps his sword out and at the ready; Ignis does the same with his daggers.

“I see. Lead on.” Ignis’s head is beginning to ache, again. “Would you believe, I thought those rocks were plants?”

Ravus glances sharply at him. “I think you might be in need of another potion, Scientia. You seem a bit addled.”

“Indeed,” Ignis says. He presses a hand to his head and hopes the wetness there is water, and not blood. He also hopes the cottage is not that far away. He’s quite ready to get out of the rain.

***

The small cottage is clean and dry and well-lit, a welcome respite after trudging through the rain and the mud for however long. They’d not encountered any additional red giants, but that meant a bevy of other daemons appeared to menace them. Between Ignis’s daggers and Ravus’s sword they were more a nuisance than anything.

By the time they’re standing inside the wooden building, the storm has grown into what might properly be called a _squall._ The sound of the rain on the tin roof was far too loud to be relaxing.

“There are medical supplies here. I cannot vouch for the age of the potion, but as long as you’re not suffering severe injuries, it should mitigate any ill-effects from your tumble into the nefarious Tenebraen rock-bushes.”

Ignis blinks, reaching out for the dusty glass bottle Ravus procured from a cabinet and is handing over to him. “Either you made a joke, or this head injury is worse than I thought.”

“The latter, I’m sure. It’s a fairly well-documented fact that I have no sense of humor.” Ravus pulls his glove off with the metal fingers of his prosthetic, then starts to unbutton the drenched, muddy white coat. Ignis has no notion how he’ll ever get the thing clean.

The potion is certainly old, but it’s effective; the headache eases, and a cursory exam of his head shows a slight gash and a slighter bump, neither of which he thinks are much cause for concern.

He looks around the cottage as Ravus hangs his coat off a tack on the back of the front door. There’s a wood stove in lieu of a fireplace, a bed and a table with two chairs, and a small wooden chest of drawers pushed next to the wall. Ravus goes to the chest and pulls out some clothing. “There’s enough here for both of us, and the bathroom is through that door -- the one that doesn’t lead outside into the rain, in case you’re still a bit muddled.”

“No, thank you, the potion helped a great deal.” Ignis takes the clothes. “I’m impressed there’s plumbing all the way out here.”

“Rudimentary, and the water is from a well so it must be boiled before you drink it. There is, I’m afraid, no bath to speak of, but there is electricity and a hot plate, so we can at least have some tea and something simple to eat. Noodles, but it shall have to do.”

“That is more than fine, thank you.” Ignis gives him a considering glance. “You were on your way here, weren’t you? When you learned I was making my way to the meet-up location.”

Ravus glances away from him. “I don’t owe you an explanation for how or where I spend my time.”

“I never said that you did. I am certainly grateful, it was merely an observation.” Ignis clears his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and change.”  

“Yes. I shall make some tea,” says Ravus, still not looking at him.

Ignis goes into the small washroom, ringing his sodden clothing out over the basin as best he can. The clothing Ravus handed him is nothing fancy -- a pair of clean cotton pants, a t-shirt and a soft sweater that is made of Tenebrean wool, woven with elaborate designs. It’s a little scratchy against his skin but warm, and he has to roll up the sleeves a bit but otherwise it fits well enough.  

The main room is warm from the wood stove, and Ravus has also changed into a similar outfit. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he’s barefoot, his boots stacked by the door and his clothing laid out on racks near the stove.

It’s the first time Ignis has ever seen him dressed in anything but his raiment. He looks younger, somehow, though if Ignis recalls correctly, Ravus must be close to thirty.

“If you put your clothes there, they’ll at least be dry. I’ll have them laundered once we reach the manor.”

Ignis nods, laying out his clothing and arranging his own muddied boots next to Ravus’s. “How long do you imagine we shall be required to wait out the storm?”

“No more than a day and a half. It’s the beginning of the rainy season, so the storms are short-lived.” Ravus says. “As long as you have no aversion to dehydrated food, we should be fine as far as supplies.”

“I’ve more of an aversion to starving,” Ignis says, wryly. “And I am no stranger to Cup Noodle. I must, again, thank you for your timely rescue. Honestly, I should have remained at the haven. My calculated risk was not, it would seem, as well calculated as it should have been.”

“Yes, well. Staying at the haven would have saved you a fight, but you would have had a miserable time waiting out the rain.” Ravus turns and goes toward the stove, where a small hot plate is busy heating a kettle. He pours two cups of water over a strainer of loose tea, then produces a bottle of what looks like cheap Duscaen whiskey. “It shall make the tea taste better.”

Ignis smiles slightly. “Ah, now I see the purpose of this place. A drinking cabin.”

He’s teasing, but Ravus says, a bit defensively, “Given the Emperor’s demise and the Imperial Chancellor’s sudden disappearance, many are fleeing the former Imperial lands for Lestallum. Fenestala has become something of a stop over on the way, and I…” Ravus lowers his lashes. “I find it easier, when there are a great many people there, to simply be elsewhere.”

“Surely those who are seeking refuge would not see you as an enemy,” Ignis says, kindly. “Given that you have opened your very home to keep them safe.”

“Oh, it isn’t that.” Ravus pours a generous bit of whiskey into one of the cups, removing the strainer and handing it to Ignis.  “Do I strike you as a man who is disused to being disliked? I am a traitor to my own people, and my former colleagues never saw me as anything but a foreigner unfit to bear my rank. Things are hard enough for the common people, Scientia, without seeing their former prince-turned-traitor, or high-commander-turned-prince, striding about like the lord of the manor.”

Ignis sips his tea. “As you said, Lord Ravus. You owe me no accounting of your time, or where you choose to spend it. And your hospitality is most welcome, as is this whiskey. It does indeed improve the flavor of the tea tremendously.”

Ravus doesn’t so much as smile -- if anything, his posture becomes stiffer, more formal, and even in what are essentially pajama pants and a Tenebraen wool sweater he looks every inch the prince and military commander he once was. “There is something I _do_ owe you, Scientia, and that is an apology for my...atrocious behavior when last we met. It is hardly an excuse and I would not presume to ask for your forgiveness or even your understanding, but I was mired in grief over my sister’s death, and I did not react well.”

Ignis clears his throat. “I -- yes, well. As it happens, I do understand. Noctis, while not related by blood, is every bit my brother. Grief makes us blind to reason on occasion.”

“Yes, it does. But you had aided me with your skills in reaching the altar, and my anger was misplaced. I should not have drawn my sword against you, and I do regret it.”

It had been quite a battle, Ravus’s formidable skills sharpened by grief and rage. “Apology accepted. You did lend your aid as well, both before and after, when you brought my compatriots to Zegnautus.”

“The least I could do.” Ravus gives him a very formal bow. When he straightens, his shoulders seem to have relocated a bit from up around his ears. “I appreciate the opportunity to express my regret for my actions.”

Ignis, perhaps thanks to the whiskey and a desire not to speak of a past that cannot be changed, says blandly, “Though I must say... _perish in despair_? Really?”

Ravus has the grace to flush at Ignis’s reference to his snarled words back in Altissia. “Perhaps we could chalk that up to spending too much of my time around Ardyn.”

Ignis chuckles. “I believe that was the second joke you’ve told in a mere few hours. You must not be as devoid a sense of humor as you claim.”

“Who says that was a joke?” Ravus picks up the kettle. “Should you care for more tea? I would suggest saving the whiskey, as there isn’t much left. I shall have to stock more in the future.”

“No, but you did mention noodles,” Ignis reminds him. His own meager breakfast seems as if it were hours ago.

“Ah, yes. We have…” Ravus rummages through a small box. “Dehydrated chicken and soy sauce flavor. Have you a preference?”

“Either is acceptable,” Ignis says honestly. “If you prefer one over the other, be my guest.”

“Well, to be fair, they rather taste the same. There’s also an old army ration, but you don’t want that. They taste like tree bark stuck together with bits of old gum.”

Ignis laughs. “As do Lucian rations.”

“Made by the same company, I have no doubt.” Ravus busies himself at the kettle for a moment, emptying the food into two plain earthenware bowls and pouring hot water over each. It’s something of an incongruous sight, watching him do something so simple and domestic as fix dehydrated noodles.

Ignis can’t say the atmosphere between them is comfortable, precisely, as even with Ravus’s apology they still fought on opposite sides of a war only recently ended. They talk a bit of the necessities in preparing for the Night, but with the storm increasing in fervor and his stomach full of food, tea and whiskey, Ignis is feeling the effects of his trek and the battle with the red giant.

“Is there a chance of the storm knocking out the electricity?” Ignis asks, with a yawn. If so, they’ll have to take turns sleeping.

“Yes, but there is a back-up generator a few feet away. If _that_ fails, we are in trouble.”

Ignis laughs tiredly. “You may wish me to sleep with the generator. I seem to be bad luck on this trip.”

“My own is rarely anything else,” Ravus says, in a deadpan sort of voice. “But that’s not necessary. I’ll take the first watch, you get some sleep.”

Ignis is too exhausted to argue, so he makes his way to the bed, takes off his glasses, and lies down. It’s a far cry from the hard, unyielding rock on which he last rested, and he falls asleep almost immediately.

The last thing he sees is Ravus, half in profile, staring out the window at the dark.

***

Ignis has no clear idea how long he’s slept, but it’s still dark and it’s still raining when a mighty crash of thunder wakes him.

He sits straight up in bed, heart racing.

“Tenebraen storms are quite a force to be reckoned with,” Ravus says. He sounds amused.

“Indeed. A rather formidable alarm.” Ignis swings his feet over the bed, reaching immediately for his glasses. “How long was I asleep?”

“Four hours or so. If you wish to return to bed, I can stay up a while longer.”

His words are drowned out by another mighty crash. Ignis gives a rueful chuckle. “I think the adrenaline spike has ended my nap. I daresay you’ll have more trouble falling asleep than I shall have in staying awake, with this racket.”

“I grew up here. I’m used to it, and I’ve always liked storms,” says Ravus, making it the first time Ignis has ever heard him say he liked anything. “You’re Tenebraen, are you not? Your surname is a common one, and your accent doesn’t sound Insomnian.”

“Yes, originally, but I moved to Insomnia when I was five and as I recall, my family was from the mountainous region where I’m told the storms result in snow more than thunder.” He watches as Ravus rises from his chair and stretches perfunctorily, his tall, lean form shifting as he reaches toward the ceiling and works out the kinks from sitting while Ignis slept. “Thank you for taking the first watch.”

Ravus inclines his head, then goes to the bed. “There are books in that box, over there. If you care to read.”

Ignis can’t even recall the last time he read a book for pleasure and not research revolving around the prophecy, Noctis, and the truth of Ardyn Lucis Caelum. It must have been in the early days of the road trip, before the fall of Insomnia set his mind to strategy and survival. “I -- yes, thank you.”

Ignis rummages through the box, is delighted to find a copy of _Fight for the Planet,_ a particular favorite from his childhood. “I haven’t read this in years,” he says, turning the book over. It’s a well-loved, well-read copy, with a drawing of the spiky-haired protagonist facing off against his silver-haired eternal rival on the cover. “Noctis and I used to argue over whose turn it was to read it when we were young --”

A soft snore interrupts him. Glancing over, Ignis sees that Ravus is sound asleep, sprawled on his back with his human arm over his head. He hasn’t even bothered to pull up the covers. Ignis studies him for a moment, taking in how different he looks, mouth parted and his usual rather severe expression relaxed in sleep.

Somewhat surprisingly, Ignis realizes he finds Ravus attractive. In a purely aesthetic, physical sense of course -- he’s in good shape, his looks are striking if not conventionally handsome, and those sharp cheekbones of his are really rather remarkable.

Ignis chastises himself for thinking of such things -- even if he is no longer an enemy, Ravus is a tentative ally at best. If Ignis is in need of physical comfort, he can find some when he returns to Lestallum. He certainly has other things to think about than Ravus’s mouth, or how long his legs look stretched out in those cotton pants.

He turns his attention to the book instead.

***

The storm gets worse, but Ravus sleeps through it without stirring. He wakes up a few hours later, though Ignis is too involved in his book to have a good idea of how long it’s been exactly.

“The sky seems to have lightened some,” he says, once Ravus has appeared to look out the window. “I confess, I’m not quite sure of the time.” His phone is likely in need of a charge, and his watch was an unfortunate casualty of the red giant. That happens often enough that he’s finally learned to only buy cheap ones.

Ravus glances up at the ceiling, as if he’s doing some sort of calculation. “It should be about eleven am.”

Ignis looks at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“I -- honestly, I’m not sure. It’s always been a peculiar skill of mine.” Ravus takes his hair down from its ponytail, running the fingers of both his hands through it to comb out the tangles. “You’re a fast reader, you seem to be halfway through that book.”

“I am, yes. And I’ve read it so many times, I could likely recite it.” Ignis smiles fondly and closes the cover. “The first time I ever cried reading a book was when Aerith dies.”

Ravus’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice is oddly hesitant when he says, “When Lunafreya read that part, she became so cross she threw the book across the library and refused to finish it. Later, she demanded I make up a story in which it was all a clever ruse and Aerith returned at the end to marry Cloud.”

Ignis has to smile at the story. It’s nice to hear about Lunafreya as a person, someone who read books and had opinions about them. “Was she afraid of the storms?”

Ravus hesitates for a moment, and Ignis says hastily, “Please don’t feel you need to speak of her to me, if it is painful.”

“No, it’s...helpful, to remember. That we had time together, short as it was. And despite the mess I made of things, in our later years, we were always close as children.” Ravus puts the kettle on, staring moodily out of the window. “She wasn’t afraid of the storms, precisely, but she did used to worry it would cause a tree to fall on the manor. Which isn’t entirely unprecedented, though it’s a very well-built home. I told her it would only be if Ramuh needed to whack some sense into her.”

“Did that work to calm her fears?” Ignis asks, smiling.

“As I recall, she tattled on me to Mother and I got in trouble. But she loved the storms, when she was older.” His voice goes flat a bit at the end, the hint of warmth vanishing entirely. Ignis thinks perhaps a change of subject is in order. It clearly is not easy for Ravus to talk about Lunafreya.

“We didn’t have many storms in Insomnia, and none quite like this. I’m not sure I could imagine ever getting used to them.”

“Eventually, it’s possible to get used to most anything.” Ravus pours some hot water in two cups and sets the strainer with the loose tea in each. “Your reports say you think the Night will last for years. Do you really believe it shall be that long before Noctis returns?”

“I do.” Ignis sets the book aside and gets to his feet, stretching out his own muscles. “The sources about the prophecy are all vague, but I found an intriguing text in Costlemark that spoke of it as a _dekaetia,_ which is the Solheim term for a decade.”

“Ten years of no sun? Can the world survive such a thing?”

“We have no choice,” Ignis says, sighing. “We must. There’s a theory -- and it’s only a theory, mind you -- that this is but one iteration in a cyclical event meant to keep the planet’s resources from being exhausted. That every so often, some catastrophe culls the human population, negating our impact on the planet itself. It explains the meteor fall and even, though it would be classified as a lesser event, the rise of the daemons themselves.”

“That’s a rather grim theory,” says Ravus. “And if I’m saying that, you know it must be quite hopeless.”

Ignis is startled into a laugh. “You know, I think you were misinformed about your sense of humor. It is quite dry, but you do have one.”

“Perhaps. I simply haven’t much of an occasion to use it over the years.” Ravus removes the strainer and glances outside. “The storms are likely going to keep us in for another day. From the force of the wind and the rain at present, I’d say we are soon to expect the worst of it.”

“It gets worse?” Ignis shakes his head. “I’m both intrigued and terrified by the thought.”

“Yes, well. It’ll be bad for an hour or so, and hopefully tomorrow we’ll have more than enough sun to make it to the manor.” Ravus lifts the bottle of whiskey. “I’ll save this for later, then, shall I?”

“A wise choice,” Ignis agrees, and accepts his tea with a smile.

They’re both quiet, and save a worried glance when the thunder and accompanying lightening cause the lights to flicker, lost in their own thoughts for a bit.

“There are other things of which we haven’t spoken,” Ravus says, when he goes to prepare them a meal of noodles. The storm is growing worse, and Ignis tries to ignore how the very frame of the cottage seems to rattle with the thunder. “I was unsure if you wished to take this opportunity to do so.”

He means, of course, the invasion of the Crown City, and the death of the King. Perhaps even the Ring of the Lucii, which they both wore (though for drastically different reasons) and survived to tell the tale. If they wished.

Ignis is not sure he wishes -- either to tell that tale, or rehash the fall of Insomnia. He cannot forgive the Empire for their duplicity, the senseless loss of life in what had been such a hopeful occasion. “We were at war. And you and I were heavily involved on opposite sides. I cannot imagine what we would accomplish by speaking of it. It is over, and in the past. We have a future for which we should prepare, and our time would, I believe, be better spent conversing about that.”

Ravus nods, resting his chopsticks on the top of his emptied bowl. He’d eaten perfunctorily, as had Ignis. The noodles would not have been up to Gladio’s exacting standards. “All right.” He seems a bit relieved. “Then I will say only that Tenebrae stands with the rightful king, and I shall lend whatever aid I am able in the years ahead. I -- cannot change my past or my allegiances, nor the things I did in the name of those allegiances. But I _will_ honor Lunafreya’s memory as best I am able by helping the people, as she would have.”

Ignis inclines his head. “I appreciate that, but I had already thought you would. As I’ve said, the past is behind us. And your assistance in this uncertain future is valuable indeed.” He holds a hand out to Ravus. “Allies, then, Lord Ravus?”

Ravus looks briefly startled, then reaches out and takes Ignis’s hand in his. Unlike their other handshake following their fight with the red giant, Ravus’s skin is warm and dry. He shakes Ignis’s hand. “Allies. And if you would, call me Ravus.”

“Indeed, and please, call me Ignis. When you say _Scientia_ in your accent, it reminds me of a childhood tutor who used to chastise me for reading ahead in my textbook.”

“As you wish.” Ravus takes his hand away. “Not to alarm you, Ignis, but we best break out the whiskey. The heart of the storm is coming.”

Ignis is about to say that seems like a fine idea, but before he can do so, the window out of which they’re both looking breaks along with the thunder -- glass flying and rain pouring in, soaking them both is seconds.

***

What follows is a brief period of chaos. Ravus shouts at him to upend the bed as he hastily shoves the hot plate and supplies away from the shattered window. He also grabs his sword and impales an imp that tries to stick its head in, though it’s repelled by the light immediately.

Ignis unceremoniously strips the bedding and pushes the mattress to the floor, then drags the frame over to the window. He and Ravus maneuver it up and against the broken window, which works to keep the rain out but does rather hamper their view. The floor is soaked, they’re both soaked, and most of the things in the cottage are in a similar state.

“Well,” Ravus says, breathing hard. He glances down dispassionately at the hot plate. “I suppose it’s a good thing we already ate. Plugging that in now might set the place on fire.”

The cottage shakes, trembling on its foundation. Ignis has never experienced a storm like this in his life, including confronting the _actual Storm-sender._ “Perhaps an offering to Ramuh would not go amiss.” Ignis reaches down and picks up two sodden packets of dehydrated noodles. “Do you think he prefers soy flavor or roasted chicken?”

Ravus laughs. It’s an actual laugh, low and warm, and Ignis is momentarily distracted by how nice it sounds. “I’ve no notion. Perhaps leave him both, and let him decide.”

A blast of wind pushes the bed frame so that it wobbles dangerously. Both Ignis and Ravus spring into action and press their shoulders against it.

“We may have to hold it until the worst of it passes. Get some dry clothes and the bedding, and I’ll hold it. Then we shall switch.”

Ignis nods, then goes to change once more into similar clothes. He gathers up the bedding and the mattress, and as Ravus goes to change, places the edge of the mattress up against the frame. He sits on it, finds the whiskey bottle, and takes a satisfying swig.

Ravus, when he returns to take his place next to Ignis, does the same. After a bit, things do seem to be calming down, though perhaps it’s merely the whiskey making Ignis think that. “I’m afraid your drinking cabin is a mess.”

“I shall fix it.” Ravus, too, seems a bit affected by the whiskey, which they are passing back and forth like a couple of kids at university. The sharpened edges of Ravus’s accent have softened just a tad. He sounds a bit more like Lunafreya. Ravus, whose head is resting back against the overturned bed frame, turns to him. His mouth curves up in a small smile. “My apologies for the dreadful hospitality thus far during your stay.”

“You shall have to make it up to me,” Ignis says without thinking, his gaze on Ravus’s mouth. It’s only because he’s never seen him smile before, he tells himself.

“Shall I,” Ravus says, and Ignis glances up to meet his eyes. Ravus has always come across as reserved and even cold, but with his hair a certifiable mess, half still in the ponytail and half hanging in his face, his cheeks flushed from the whiskey….

“Your eyes,” Ignis says. “They’re not the -- they were different. When I -- last time we saw each other.”

“Oh. Yes. The energy that powered my prosthetic was the same as that which powered the Magitek. When it was first given to me, it altered my eye color. When I was on the way with your companions to Zegnautus, they returned to their original shade.”

They’d been unusual, before; one icy fray, the other a vivid violet. Now they were the same color as a storm.

“You’re staring, Ignis.”

Ignis flushes hot as he realizes that yes, he is. “I -- my apologies. The whiskey has gone to my head.” And other places, it seems. He’s half-hard, and hopes that either the pants are loose enough to hide it, or that Ravus won’t notice.

“That -- you mean the Magitek are no longer operational?” He clears his throat. “That would explain why we haven’t seen any MTs.”

“It would seem so. I did try and contact Verstael Besithia, though I imagine he is too unstable to be of use. Especially if, like the Emperor, he is infected with the Scourge -- he might have been that red giant we dispatched, for all I know. If he and Ardyn both are out of the picture, then MTs will likely pose no threat. I imagine they’re inactive.”

“But your prosthetic is still operational,” Ignis says.

“Yes, but it was significantly more powerful before. Now it functions as any prosthetic would. While the extra strength would be a benefit, I’m not entirely sorry about that particular development.”

“If you require maintenance, you should speak with Prompto,” says Ignis. “He’s got a clever touch with mechanics. And a generous heart. I can’t imagine he would refuse to help, given we are now allies. His nature isn’t given to holding a grudge.”

“A true magic in and of itself,” Ravus says, and leans his head back against the frame again. “Noctis has been gifted with true and honorable companions.”

“That sounded suspiciously like a compliment,” Ignis teases.

Ravus gives him that small smile again. “You are an adequate fighter and despite your questionable ability at making sensible travel arrangements, not at all a trial to be stuck in a cabin with.”

Ignis laughs.  “Prompto was originally scheduled for this mission, but a shipment of parts arrived and he left for Hammerhead last week. Else you might have spent the time learning how to play _King’s Knight_ and watching chocobo videos on his phone.”

“A dreadful fate, indeed. I would have had to horde the whiskey. I am not sorry you came instead. We seem to get on well enough.”

“Indeed,” says Ignis. In another life, in which Noctis was allowed to become King and Tenebrae had not fallen to the Empire, they might have even been friends. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. The future was uncertain, but the idea seemed more than possible. “Now that you don’t wish me to perish in despair.”

“No, I’d say I at least wish that you _survive with minimal angst_ ,’ says Ravus.

Ignis laughs, again. “That’s good to hear, Ravus, thank you.”

Ravus lifts the bottle in a toast, takes a drink and hands it over. “I should tell you. I think I’m drunk.”

“Me, too,” Ignis says, blinking a few times. “I’m not entirely used to drinking. I’d occasionally have a glass of wine or two, but I haven’t been drunk since I turned eighteen. It was the only the time, actually. Gladio arranged for me to accompany him and a bunch of Glaives to a Galahdian bar. If I never smell rum again, it will be too soon.”

“You’re a chatty drunk,” is Ravus’s response to that.

“Apparently I was that night, too.” Ignis flushes a bit as he remembers what exactly he’d told Gladio. _Is it all right if I think sometimes about licking your abdominal muscles?_ That had been the first time he’d been drunk _and_ the first time he’d gotten laid. A memorable birthday, indeed.

_We’re not thinking about that right now. No. No thinking about licking anything, even Ravus’s cheekbones. Especially those._

“Do you know who got me drunk the first and only time? Commodore Highwind. And it was on -- this is dreadfully embarrassing -- Gralea Grenades.”

“I’m not familiar,” Ignis says. “But anything with that name must be quite strong.”

“I’m not certain what was even in them, as far as alcohol. But I do know there was some type of juice, ulwatt I think, and it was bright red. I know this because I threw it up for seven hours straight the next day and I thought I was dying.”

Ignis grins over at him. “I was in a similar state with the rum, the following day.” He takes the bottle from Ravus and shakes it. “There’s likely not enough left to get us that inebriated.”

“For the best, I’m sure,” says Ravus. “I’m told I very nearly sang karaoke. I would have had to resign from the shame.”

Ignis waits for some remark like _and perhaps I should have,_ but Ravus is, remarkably, apparently not quite as moody drunk as he is sober. How strange. “I have been to a bar in Lestallum with Ms. Highwind. She drank everyone under the table and then won six games of darts in a row.”

“Yes, that sounds like her. I saw her beat _Ardyn_ at darts once at the Officer’s Ball.”

It’s strange, Ignis realises, to think of Niflheim as a society that had things like karaoke, parties, mixed drinks and darts. War makes it so easy to dehumanize one’s enemy. If nothing else, Ignis is glad that time of strife is behind them. “We are nearly done with this whiskey. Let us have a toast to...a future in which we all fight as one. Or the end of this bloody storm. Pick one.”

Ravus takes the bottle, lifts it, and says, after a moment, “To Noctis.” He sips the whiskey, and hands it back to Ignis.

Ignis takes a breath, then says softly, “To Noct,” before killing the bottle.

***

“That’s _absurd,_ ” Ravus huffs. “Even if you could defy the laws of known physics, how on earth would you get a waterslide to propel you upwards? The point of the thing is to go _down_.”

The storm has lessened to a much more tolerable degree, enough that they are able to prop the bedframe up and not worry that it will blow over. They’ve dragged the mattress back near the stove, with the bedding piled on it, and both lie on their backs while they wait for it to be light enough to travel. Which isn’t going to be anytime soon, and that’s likely a good thing.  They both need to sober up a bit.

“I designed this house when I was eleven, Ravus,” Ignis says, in response to Ravus’s disdain for his childhood dream home. “To an eleven year old, all things are possible. Even upward-propelling water slides.”

Ravus doesn’t look convinced. “I think you better suited to an advisor than an architect.”

“All right, then _you_ answer the question,” says Ignis. “If not required by your duty to your bloodline, what would you have wished to be in a future where we could have been anything?”

“I don’t know,” says Ravus. “What sort of profession would a man whose hobbies are swordplay and brooding aspire to?”

“Oh, come now,” Ignis says. “You must like other things. You...enjoy reading, as we’ve discussed. And you have that remarkable ability to discern the time.”

“A librarian, then, hushing errant children and telling patrons when it’s time to leave?” Ravus considers this. “I can think of worse jobs. Perhaps when Noctis returns and the world is set to rights, I shall do that.” He’s quiet for a moment before saying, a bit hesitantly, “Do you know who was inordinately fond of libraries? Ardyn.”

“Was he?”

“Yes. In fact, there’s a room named for him in Gralea. The _Ardyn Izunia Reading Room._ He donated a lot of materials, old books and the like.” Ravus rolls his eyes. “I had to help him carry them from his townhouse. They were rather weighty, and he had a great many. I asked what was in them, and he said, _Oh, dreadfully dull old tomes of ancient history, things only a scholar would want --”_ Ravus sits up and glances down at Ignis. “Ah. It occurs to me that perhaps that might be information of some use.”

Ignis sits up -- a bit slower, as the whiskey is still affecting most of his fine motor skills, and says slowly, “I suppose it is worth checking into. If there were books about the prophecy written over the years, he certainly had the time to collect them.” He feels a tingle of excitement at the possibility they may have the answers they need. “I shall ask Aranea if she’s up for a mission to Gralea.”

“I have no notion what condition the library may be in, of course, as the capital is, from what I understand, mostly empty. But I will accompany her, as I know precisely where the room is and it’s not the easiest to find.  Do you wish me to have the materials sent to you in Lestallum? I can store them here, in Tenebrae. We certainly have the space in the library.”

“That would be ideal, if you can spare the room. Thank you.”

“Certainly.” Ravus inclines his head. “I shall shush you if you make too much noise and remind you of the hours.”

“Your future career, off to a great start. Much better than my dreams of architectural glory, unless you’d permit me to build a waterslide somewhere on the premises?”

“If we’d had just a bit more whiskey, you might have convinced me,” says Ravus. “Alas, we don’t. So. No.”

“Bit of a spoilsport, aren’t you?” Ignis says, and Ravus snorts.

“It’s my other hobby,” he says, and Ignis wonders if he’s had enough whiskey for what he’s about to do, because Ravus is sitting so very close, and he has some feeling that perhaps he’s not imagining the tension between them that is no longer edged with animosity.

“Let’s see about that," Ignis says, and leans in. He presses his mouth to Ravus’s, wondering with a thrill of fear if this isn’t actually a worse decision than splitting up from the driver.

Ravus doesn’t push him away and go for his sword, but he doesn’t respond, either. He goes still, and says against Ignis’s mouth, “What precisely are you doing?”

Ignis pulls back a little and frowns. "That -- wasn’t obvious? I thought my intention was more than clear.”

Ravus, Ignis is pleased to note, doesn’t look disgusted. In fact, quite the opposite. There’s a flush on his cheekbones, and his eyes are dilated, his breathing a bit quicker. His pupils are even dilated. All signs that perhaps he’s not averse to this. “I -- all right, yes, but I suppose I’m uncertain _why_.”

There are a lot of answers Ignis could give, here. He could flatter Ravus and extol how attractive he finds him, he could tease and suggest that the best way to resolve their lingering tension is by indulging in something less vitriolic than fighting, he could even suggest a tryst as a way to cement their newfound alliance and tentative friendship.

In the end, he gives in to the urge that has plagued him since he watched Ravus sleep and reaches out, lightly tracing his fingers over those sharp cheekbones and saying, “I suppose it has been a long time since I’ve found myself attracted to someone. You seem to be the same, unless I’m misreading this, in which case, I shall apologize for crossing a line and keep my hands to myself.”

Ravus turns his head, just slightly, and his eyes slide half-closed. It’s a good look on him. “I’m  -- you’re not incorrect, but I...would rather not ruin the good will we’ve established between us by complicating things.”

“Ravus,” Ignis says, amused. “We established this good will fighting a daemon that was trying to kill us, walking for ages in through the rain --”

“Honestly, Ignis, it was less than two miles from where we fought that red giant ---”

Ignis clears his throat and taps Ravus’s mouth with two fingers. He doesn’t miss Ravus’s sharply indrawn breath, either. “My point is that adversity seems to have brought out the best of us both, as it did in Altissia when we fought at each other’s side.” He pauses, wondering if it was perhaps wrong to bring that up, considering what happened after -- but Ravus doesn’t stop him, either from talking or tracing his lower lip with the tip of his finger. “We’ve fought daemons, the elements, the Empire, and each other, Ravus. Engaging in something far more pleasant than battle can’t possibly harm anything.”

“You underestimate my ability to ruin things,” Ravus says. “Battling against you might not have been pleasant, but I cannot say I didn’t enjoy fighting _with_ you. You are an intelligent fighter, and devilishly quick with those daggers.”

Why does it not surprise Ignis that Ravus would attempt to return a flirtation by praising his military skills? Well. Ignis is nothing if not adaptable. “And you manage an impressive range of motion wearing a full-length leather coat,’ Ignis says. “But I will respect your decision and you needn’t worry about any reprisals for declining. I’m not the type to allow a rejection to color my working relationship with an ally and potential --”

Before Ignis can get the rest of that sentence out, Ravus moves -- faster than someone of his stature really should be allowed, especially given the whiskey -- and pushes him back against the mattress. His mouth is suddenly on Ignis’s, and for as reserved a man as he is, he certainly kisses with enough heat to set Ignis’s blood on fire. “Then I suppose you’re clever enough to take this as my answer,” says Ravus, nipping sharply at his lower lip.

Ignis settles back, enjoying the press of Ravus’s weight on top of him, and is gratified to feel the length of Ravus’s erection against his thigh - it is good to know he’s not the only one fully hard from their conversation alone. Their kiss is heated and slow, and for all his apparent coldness Ravus is far more aggressive than Ignis might have thought. He has no hesitation grinding the length of his cock against Ignis, or licking into Ignis’s mouth with his tongue.

Ignis opens his mouth, settles his hands on Ravus’s shoulders and kisses back. He presses up into Ravus’s cock, and his own erection grows even harder when Ravus groans into their kiss. “I -- it has been some time. For me.”

Ignis wonders briefly who it was with, but doesn’t ask. It’s really none of his business. “Yes. It is rather hard to find the time for me as well. You seem to -- ah --”  He shivers as Ravus kisses at his neck. “You seem to have little difficulty recalling the particulars.”

“I did say I was good at swordplay,” Ravus says, and before Ignis can wrap his brain around Ravus Nox Fleuret and a sexual innuendo, Ravus is kissing him again. Ignis shifts beneath him so that he can push up and get friction on his cock while giving the same, and Ravus groans into his mouth and pulls back to tug off Ignis’s shirt.

Ignis responds in kind, enjoying the feeling of warm skin beneath his hands, though he does pause when he feels the start of the metal of Ravus’s prosthetic arm beneath his fingers.   
  
“I –if you would prefer, I can keep it out of the way,” Ravus says. He doesn’t even look as if he’s bothered by the suggestion that he not touch Ignis with the non-human hand.   
  
“Does it bother you to have it touched, or to – touch, with it? During acts of this nature?”   
  
“It doesn’t bother me, no. But I’m aware it’s…well.” Ravus tilts his head, hiding a bit behind his hair. “Unpleasant. In more ways than one.”   
  
“I have no aversion to what is, essentially, a part of you,” Ignis says, running fingers down the metal. It’s not cold but it’s not as warm as Ravus’s skin, and it’s slick and smooth beneath his fingers.   
  
Ravus gives a brief nod and kisses him again. He mostly keeps his weight braced above Ignis and uses his human hand to touch him, though that does make sense, given he couldn’t feel with the other. He is certainly not shy, though, kissing and nipping down Ignis’s chest. He knees Ignis’s legs apart and rubs a hand over Ignis’s cock. “Had I the necessary supplies, I would ask your preference. I don’t, but I find I’m still curious to know what you like.”   
  
Ignis pushes up on his elbows, blinking down at Ravus. He reaches beside him to grab his discarded glasses, wanting to see. “If you had the necessary supplies, I would tell you that I quite enjoy both and prefer to give at least each a go if possible.”   
  
“I see.” Ravus gives him a sly sort of smile that Ignis had no idea he was capable of making. “A good thing to keep in mind, then.”   
  
“And you?” Ignis asks, sucking in a sharp breath as Ravus lowers his head and mouths his cock through the material of his pants. “What is that you enjoy?”   
  
“I’m quite flexible.”   
  
“So bottoming, then?” Ignis asks, as innocently as possible.

Ravus lifts his head, and fixes Ignis with an unimpressed look. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice when he says, “That was terrible.”   
  
“You’ll have no apologies for my banter,” Ignis says, reaching down to thread his fingers through Ravus’s hair. “If you want some other kind of talk, then impress me into giving it to you.”   
  
“Oh, I see, we’re to battle it out with blowjobs as we did with blades?” Ravus sucks the tip of Ignis’s cock into his mouth, and Ignis shivers as he feels the stroke of Ravus’s tongue.   
  
“Of course. Let’s hope yours is a bit less – ah, Ravus,” he gasps, when Ravus’s hand – the metal one, this time – goes between his legs, playing with his balls. There’s something about the hard pressure of his non-human fingers that is delicious, just the right kind of rough. “Do feel free to take my pants off.”   
  
“I might, if you could work out how to ask nicely.” Ravus draws two fingers up the length of Ignis’s erection. “If not, I suppose you’ll have to settle for what I give you.”   
  
Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised at Ravus’s – playfulness isn’t precisely the right word, there’s too much intensity behind it for that, but perhaps _teasing_ . He is a swordsman, and they’re quite good at parrying.   
  
Ignis, who favors daggers, is equally as gifted as finding and exploiting any available opening. He tugs on Ravus’s hair, as his instincts say that will likely be well-received – and he’s right, it seems – and says, “Please take my pants off and suck me.”

Ravus gives a sharp inhale and uses both his hands to pull Ignis’s pants off and toss them aside, leaving him lying naked on the bed. It feels very decadent, and he quite likes the look on Ravus’s face as he settles between his legs.   
  
“Don’t hesitate to use my mouth,” Ravus says. “Choke me with your cock, pull my hair…show no mercy.”   
  
That gets a huff of a laugh from him. “I shan’t, provided you cease the monologuing and get on with it,” says Ignis. He’s enjoying the verbal sparring almost as much as the blowjob. Almost, because Ravus is indeed very good at this – he takes Ignis’s cock deep and hard, so quickly that Ignis isn’t even thinking about how hard he’s pulling at Ravus’s hair.   
  
“That’s – yes, that’s – you are good at this,” he pants, hips lifting to get deeper. Ravus hums around his cock, and Ignis feels the tentative press of those metal fingers again, this time without the barrier of his pants. “Yes, that’s – please, yes.”   
  
Ravus rubs his slick metal fingers against Ignis’s balls, and takes his cock to the base. It feels delicious, Ravus’s throat slick and tight around him, his fingers between Ignis’s legs making him wish they did have the supplies and that Ravus could fuck him into the mattress.   
  
Perhaps another time. For now, Ignis grabs hard at Ravus’s human shoulder with one hand and pulls his hair with another, until he’s so worked up that he’s holding Ravus’s head with both and pushing his cock into Ravus’s mouth with sharp jerks of his hips. He’s babbling, mostly variations of, “Oh, Gods,” and “yes, that’s it,” and there’s a certain freedom in this, in feeling pleasure and shouting it out without reservations. The world has taken much from him and will, no doubt, take more.   
  
But he can take this and he does, dimly aware that Ravus certainly is choking through the sounds of his own moans and the roar of the blood in his ears as he nears his peak. He tries to ease up but Ravus doesn’t let him, going so far as to smack Ignis’s inner thigh when he tries to make his thrusts slower, shallower.   
  
“I’m – I’m close,” Ignis gasps, and as good as it feels, as much as he wants to come, he’s almost sad that it’s over. But Ravus takes him all the way in again, swallowing around his length, and Ignis takes it for the permission it is and comes hard down his throat. He hears himself give something very near a shout as his hips snap up, holding Ravus to him in a death grip while pleasure shudders over him.   
  
He’s sweaty, panting and utterly wrecked when the high of his orgasm eventually recedes. Ravus is sitting next to him on the floor, looking incredibly smug. His face is red and his mouth and chin are wet, his hair messy and tangled. It’s a very good look on him, even if it’s so far from his usual that he almost looks like a completely different person. 

“My,” Ignis says, when he can form words out of the void. “You are – quite good at that.”

“Thank you,” Ravus says, as formally as if he’s just met Ignis over tea. His expression is the same serious one he always wears, despite how disheveled he looks, but Ignis is beginning to realize that the key to discerning Ravus’s mood is more in the set of his shoulders and the way he holds his tension – in other words, he sort of has a permanent _resting bitchface,_ as Prompto would say, and there are other tells that give hints to his mood.   
  
Ignis moves so that he can kiss Ravus, tasting himself and making a pleased hum into Ravus’s mouth. “Allow me to return the favor.”   
  
Ravus doesn’t need much convincing to lay back on the mattress, and Ignis stretches out on top of him, enjoying the hard feel of warm skin and muscle beneath him. He kisses Ravus, his neck, his chest, hands sliding over his body. He carefully strokes over the slick metal, paying attention to see if it makes Ravus uncomfortable in any way. It doesn’t seem to, and there’s no resistance when Ignis takes his metal hand in his own and brings it to his mouth, experimentally sucking on the fingers.   
  
Ravus shifts, rubbing up against Ignis. “That’s not necessary,” he says, but his voice is breathless and it’s clear he’s enjoying the attentions even if he can’t feel it. His eyes are hot, trained on the spot where his metal fingers are disappearing into Ignis’s mouth.   
  
Ignis swirls his tongue around them, moving them in and out in a showy, obvious approximation of fucking. Ravus groans and pushes his hips up, harder, clutching at Ignis’s shoulder with his human hand. “I – that’s very – there is something else I’d rather watch you suck. So I can actually feel it.”   
  
The bit of bossiness in Ravus’s voice, a clear hold-over from his time spent as a commander, is enough to make Ignis flush with renewed arousal. He moves from sucking on Ravus’s metal fingers to his chest and lower, licking the defined ridges of Ravus’s abdominals and noting, idly, that Ravus is just a shade too thin and needs to eat more.   
  
Then he gets to Ravus’s cock, lying flushed and hard against his stomach, the tip wet with precome…and forgets all about anything that isn’t taking it in his mouth. Which he does after some teasing licks up and down the shaft, enjoying the way both of Ravus’s hands are flitting over his shoulders and head, unsure if he should grab but clearly wanting to.   
  
“I’m not going to protest if you wish to be a little rough,” Ignis encourages him.   
  
Ravus doesn’t speak much as Ignis sucks him, but he does make noise – a lot of caught breaths and soft little moans, and for a man who can be so utterly still he certainly moves around a lot more than Ignis would have thought. He doesn’t mind – it’s quite nice, really – but it’s a lovely surprise, hinting at the man Ravus is beneath all those layers of ironclad self-control and icy reserve.   
  
Ignis enjoys the act of pleasuring his partners – man or woman – and he takes a great deal of pride in his ability to do so. He uses his tongue, flicking over the shaft and swirling around the head, and at one point he pauses when he hears –   
  
“Ravus, are you laughing at my technique?”   
  
Ravus lifts his head and flashes him an actual grin, the expression strange only because Ignis never would have thought to see it. “It’s – it feels very good, make no mistake, it’s only that you use your tongue like you use your daggers.”   
  
Ignis laughs despite himself, and then gets back to work. He teases Ravus with his tongue a little more, licking and sucking at his balls and thinking idly about how hot it would be to rim him. Perhaps after they return to the manor and are able to have a bath. He does tease at Ravus’s hole when he takes his cock in deep, and Ravus gasps out, “Yes, you – finger me,” with that same breathless bossiness.

Ignis slides his fingers up next to Ravus’s cock, sucking both messily and getting them nice and wet. He drops his hand and presses two against Ravus’s hole, gently easing them in as he deep-throats him. Ravus makes a loud sound and arches; he’s writhing so much that Ignis has to hold him down with his free hand pressed on one hip.

Ravus is incredibly tight around his fingers, at least until Ignis hits his prostate – and then he goes all lax, the tension in his muscles easing as Ignis begins to fuck his fingers in and out of him.

“That’s – ah, Astrals, that feels good, _harder_ ,” Ravus moans, and Ignis thinks about saying something like _say please_ and decides just to give Ravus what he wants. He fucks him harder with his hand, taking his cock to the root and pulling back slowly.

“I’m close,” Ravus warns him, fingers gripping Ignis’s hair in a nice tight pull. “Finish me off.”

He rather likes the bossiness, Ignis thinks, as he redoubles his efforts to bring Ravus off. It doesn’t take long – a few more deep sucks and a few swirls of his tongue, three or four more hard thrusts of his fingers and Ravus groans, his cock pulsing and the long muscles of his thighs twitching as he comes in Ignis’s mouth.

Ignis takes it all, swallows, and pulls back with a last, lingering lick. Ravus, oversensitive and gasping, twitches again. Ignis smiles. “And how was that?”

Ravus’s chest is heaving and his eyes are closed; he looks relaxed and worn-out, even more disheveled than he did after finished sucking off Ignis. He makes a sound that is likely supposed to be an answer, which Ignis translates as Ravus saying he enjoyed himself.

Ravus does open his eyes after his breathing has returned to normal. “That was – good. Thank you.”

It’s somehow not strange to be thanked for a blowjob, not when it’s Ravus. Ignis inclines his head. “I enjoyed it.”

Ravus gives him a little half smile. “A far more pleasurable engagement, as much as I enjoyed fighting with you.”

Ignis has to laugh. “Indeed.”

The lingering haze of the whiskey and the sex leaves Ignis feeling drowsy, and he manages to pull on his borrowed pair of pants before setting his glasses aside. “We should get some rest. Does your magic internal clock have an alarm setting?”

“Of course,” Ravus says, like he’s insulted Ignis would think otherwise.

He feels Ravus settle on the mattress next to him. They don’t touch – Ravus seems to be the type who doesn’t long allow anyone his personal space – but the simple closeness and warmth of having another person next to him is enjoyable. The storm is an echo now, a soft pattern of rain on the roof that, now that it isn’t terrifying, relaxing. Even the distant thunder is a pleasant sound, now that the small cabin is no longer shaking from it.

When Ignis wakes, Ravus is standing by the open door. The rain is gone, and the sun is a warm light pouring into the room. Ignis turns his face toward the light, taking a moment to savor the feel of it pressed against his eyelids. He wants to remember how it feels.

Ignis dresses in his clothing, which is dirty but dry, and he and Ravus spend some time putting the cottage to rights as best they can.

“If you can spare a day or so, I shall see to it that you are fed a proper meal, your clothes laundered and that you have an actual bed to sleep in,” Ravus says, as they set out.

Ignis glances at him. Ravus’s coat is a mess but he still looks as composed and reserved as ever. “I don’t wish to take space from a family or a refugee that might need it.”

“Don’t be silly, there are plenty of rooms and beds to go around.” Ravus adds hesitantly, “And if it is not too forward, I would be more than willing to share mine.”

Ignis is pleased by the invitation. “I would be more than happy to accept such an invitation,” he says, warmly.

The corner of Ravus’s mouth curves up. “You might not get a lot of sleep, but I shall ensure you have a good night regardless.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ignis says, and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to design that same waterslide but I wasn't 11, I was 31. I'm also not an architect, or, y'know. A physicist ^_^ 
> 
> Also characters making fun of their rival/arch-enemy's battle monologues will forever be my favorite.


End file.
